'Twas summer tide.
[Written by John Grieve, to the tune of "Polwarth on the Green." Mr. Grieve was a hat manufacturer in Edinburgh, of literary tastes, who will always be remembered as one of the Ettrick Shepherd's earliest and kindest friends and patrons. Hogg dedicates Mador of the Moor to him, and also introduces him as one of the competing minstrels in the Queen's Wake. His death took place in 1836, long after he had retired from business.]
'Twas summer tide; the cushat sang
His am'rous roundelay;
And dews, like cluster'd diamonds, hang
On flower and leafy spray.
The coverlet of gloaming gray
On every thing was seen,
When lads and lasses took their way
To Polwarth on the green.
The spirit-moving dance went on,
And harmless revelry
Of young hearts all in unison,
Wi' love's soft witcherie;
Their hall the open-daisied lea,
While frae the welkin sheen,
The moon shone brightly on the glee
At Polwarth on the green.
Dark een and raven curls were there,
And cheeks of rosy hue,
And finer forms, without compare,
Than pencil ever drew;
But ane, wi' een of bonnie blue,
A' hearts confess'd the queen,
And pride of grace and beauty too,
At Polwarth on the green.
The miser hoards his golden store,
And kings dominion gain;
While others in the battle's roar
For honour's trifles strain.
Away, such pleasures! false and vain;
Far dearer mine have been,
Among the lowly rural train,
At Polwarth on the Green.